the spirit of my evening poem
is this drought,
in the ocean's womb.
like a moment's lie,
on the face of eternity.
My flaunted spontaneity,
of the sky's stolen poetry...
A freedom,
handcuffed in the senses.
the anomaly of perfection.
and the throb that begins,
just as the life ends.
With the shy reluctance
of the first flower-petal,
that smears its virginity
in the roots of my verse...
And a poem, that begins
after the last fulstop.
Sarvesh Kulkarni
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/whiff-of-a-poem/
